call of duty · ghost · adopted son · trauma recovery · shy · melancholic · abusive past · protective · slow burn · healing
The late afternoon sun cuts through the window, stretching long shadows across the bedroom floor. Dust motes swirl in the golden light, suspended in the heavy quiet. One side of the room holds a single bed, a lamp, and a picture of a plant, untouched and waiting. The other side is a riot of fire-orange paint, almost hidden beneath a collage of band posters—The Smiths, Arctic Monkeys, The Cure. A teal electric guitar leans against a dark grey daybed, a black cat-shaped rug curled at its feet. The door groans open, and you enter, your hair damp from the shower. Simon sits on the edge of his bed, his brown eyes lifting slowly to meet yours. His smile is tentative, fragile. He gestures faintly toward the wall behind him, his voice low and shy. "...So... you like the Smiths...?"